As You Know, This Means War
by Unoriginality
Summary: An empty building and three enemy combatants hiding somewhere inside. Steve, Bucky, and Sharon are running out of time to find them and take them down without getting shot themselves. (A BTWWL fic.)


The building was mostly dark. There were a few scant lights on, casting eerie shadows on the walls, into offices, down the halls. The elevators were out of order, leaving the stairs. Targets confirmed to be below the top fifteen floors. The lowest thirty were already cleared.

That still left a lot of damn skyscraper to explore. Stupid, stupid, stupid modern day buildings being impossibly tall.

Bucky sorely wished for his tactical gear, but it hadn't been an option. He was wearing temporary equipment, including clear goggles that served only one purpose, and that was to protect his eyes. They made it hard to see, especially in the dark that blanketed the building. He was less than impressed with the whole set up.

What he wouldn't give for his normal uniform, the comforting weight of the kevlar and nomex. He was used to the feel of it, the bulk of it, the freedom of movement it gave his arm. The mask muffled any heavy breathing from adrenaline, and his shiny new goggles had that HUD and oh, that beautiful HUD would come in useful right then.

"Steve, are you seeing anything down there?" he asked into his comm, voice low as to not tip off his position if one of the enemy combatants were nearby. He couldn't hear anyone, but that didn't mean anything.

"Floor thirty-five seems to be clear," Steve said. "I haven't seen anyone. Are we sure they're even still in the building?"

"At least two of them are," Bucky replied. "One might've left, but he'd be the only one." Then Bucky made a rude noise. "But with what he's carrying? He wouldn't make it far."

"Good poi-" Steve cut himself off, and Bucky tensed, ready to make a mad dash for the stairs to give his teammate back up. "I think that particular one is up here. Maybe one of his teammates."

"Floor thirty-five?" Bucky confirmed. "Sharon, are you close to there?"

"I'm on floor thirty-eight, southwest corner," she said in his ear. "Steve, do you need back up?"

Silent as a predator in its natural habitat, Bucky crept towards the nearest stairwell. His internal compass said it was the northeast corner, and a glance at the door to the stairs proved that he was on floor forty-one. He was quick, he could get to Steve even faster than Sharon, but unless Steve happened to be smack in the center of the floor, one or the other of them might be closer.

"Wouldn't mind it," Steve said. "I think their sharpshooter is the one I'm near. I hear another one nearby, too. How close are you, Bucky?"

"Forty-one, northeast corner. I can get there as fast as Sharon."

"Show off," Sharon grumbled in his earpiece.

Bucky smiled, but made no noise to give away his position. "Call it, Steve."

For a second, Steve didn't answer. Actually, it was five seconds. "Okay, both of you get down here. I know two of their teammates are down here. There's a chance the third is waiting in ambush. Let's take out these two, then converge on the third. He can't take us all at once. Bucky, come take up snipe position. I'm in the central ball room. Get up into the light supports. You'll take on the sharpshooter. She'll be harder for Sharon and I to track. Sharon, you'll keep your eye open for the third one, I'll try to take on the central star. Might have to challenge him in an open showdown."

"High noon?" Sharon asked. "Heading down now."

"Bucky?"

"Already on my way," Bucky replied, jumping over railings to skip the steps. Forty, thirty-nine. Thirty-eight. Thirty-seven. Sharon should be at thirty-six by now. He'd beat her down to where Steve was. He needed to get up from there, though. He knew where that ballroom was, knew what lights Steve was talking about, and the rafters that the lights were attached to. They were high, subtle, cleverly disguised with drapes to allow the light through without showing their ugliness.

Perfect for a snipe.

He found the access door that led up to the rafters for maintenance of the lights and climbed them, carefully navigating the wooden beams to where he could see most of the room, and settled down, aware of the distribution of his weight. The wood held, as he expected.

Bucky saw Sharon enter the ballroom from one side, back pressed to the wall, barely visible in the dark if not for her light colored hair. She really should've worn something to cover that. Too late now.

Without a scope or his HUD, details were hard to make out as Steve crept into the center of the room, hunched down to lower his center of gravity and make himself less of a target with his height. Sharon stopped by the kitchen doors, her rifle held low, at the ready, but not aimed. Good, the CIA had trained her right.

There was a clatter in the kitchen, and Sharon brought up her rifle, peeking her head around the corner of the doorway. She held up a hand to Steve, who stayed where he was, watching around for threats. He was exposed, and Bucky didn't like that, so he swept a sharp gaze around the room.

Sharon must've decided the kitchen was clear enough to risk stepping in, her steps deliberate, slow. She disappeared from Bucky's view.

Heartbeats passed.

Sharon's scream pierced the darkness, and Bucky immediately swung his rifle around towards the kitchen, looking for the threat. She stumbled backwards out the door, landing on the ground, red spreading across her chest.

Damnit.

Steve reacted as fast as Bucky had, but had more room to maneuver, rushing to Sharon's side, not even pausing to check on her, crouching down next to where she lay and lifting his rifle. Shots were fired. They missed Steve, by inches in some cases, until there was a loud yelp from their hidden enemy.

A noise drew Bucky's attention and he looked towards the back of the ballroom, saw the enemy sharpshooter drawing a bead on Steve, just barely visible through the parted curtains. Bucky slowed his heartbeat to count the seconds, firing a shot once he was sure his bullet would fly true.

Red spattered across the sharpshooter's chest.

Two down.

"Steve, where's the other one?" Bucky demanded, searching the ball room.

"I don't know!" he replied, frantically searching around.

"Get him!" the voice from in the kitchen yelled, and Bucky had a second to react before the final enemy emerged from another door on the other side of the room. The enemy yelled, firing wildly and rather hopelessly.

One shot smacked Steve squarely in the shoulder. Bucky retaliated with a kill shot to the enemy's chest.

A costly victory, but a victory, nonetheless.

"Oh, goddamnit," Tony growled, storming out of the kitchen, covered in blue paint. "Bruce, you failed us."

"It wasn't my fault!" Bruce protested, lifting his eye protection. "They have a sniper hiding somewhere."

Sharon laughed, sitting cross-legged where she'd fallen from Tony's shot. "You should've chosen a different team line up," she said. "You knew Bucky was going to be the wild card."

Maria stepped out from behind the curtain, blue paint staining the front of her protective gear. "I think any team with him is guaranteed a win," she said, paintball rifle held down at her side. She lifted her head, examining the drapes between Bucky and the group. "You can come out, you dirty cheater."

Bucky got up off his stomach, up into a crouch, then jumped down the thirty feet to the ground below. "I'm not a cheater," he said. "You're just sore that you don't have a sniper on your side."

Tony sighed, a melodramatic sound as he stared up at the rafters that Bucky had just vacated. "We shouldn't have paired two super soldiers together, that's for sure," he said. "Especially two used to working together."

Steve walked over to them, blue coating his shoulder. "Probably wasn't your best idea, no," he agreed. He glanced over at Sharon, and Bucky watched as she got up off the floor and joined them.

"We tried to convince you to break us up," Bucky said. "I offered to be on your team."

Tony looked like he was trying to not pout. "I know, and I wish I'd taken you up on that." He glared at Bucky. "How do you take shots that accurate without a scope?"

Bucky shrugged. "This wasn't a distance that needed one for one, for another, I've had practice. A lot of practice." Then he looked at Bruce, and pointed to Steve's red shoulder. "Nice shot, by the way. That was a solid hit."

Bruce looked mighty proud of himself. "Thank you. I'm not much one for guns, but having a good eye makes up for that, I guess."

"Okay, okay, so Blue Team won this round," Tony said. "Hands up who wants to get different gear and rearrange teams? I'll even be fair and have JARVIS randomize the teams so that nobody can claim bias."

Bucky eyed the others, every hand raising. He shrugged and raised his own. Why not?

Tony grinned. "That's the spirit. Come on, back up to base. JARVIS, start plotting new teams."

"Yes, sir," JARVIS replied.

Maria stepped over to walk beside Bucky as the group filed out of the ballroom. "Nice shot," she said, motioning to the blue spatter all across her chest. "I would've been disappointed with less."

Bucky grinned at her. "Thanks. Maybe you'll get lucky this time and be on my team."

She returned the smile. "Maybe."


End file.
